


Partners in Crime and Love

by CauliflowerRat



Category: Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), obama - Fandom
Genre: Best love story ever written, Bit of an age gap oh well, Character Death, Cheating, Drugs, Eleanor is nice or is she I guess we'll wait and see, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Harry is only four years older than Obamas oldest kid but we don't talk about that, I know NYC isn't like this its for dramatic effect, Implied Sexual Content, Lawyers, M/M, Murder, New York City, Slow Burn, like really really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CauliflowerRat/pseuds/CauliflowerRat
Summary: When everything you've worked for burns, it hurts. When you're the one who started the fire, you need someone to help you get back up. Harry and his bandmates find themselves in a drug ring shortly after they went on "hiatus". When that goes wrong and one of them passes, Harry finds himself locked up and only one lawyer has the key.
Relationships: Barack Obama/Harry Styles, Barack Obama/Michelle Obama, Gigi Hadid/Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson/Original Character(s), Maya Henry/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicolas Cage](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nicolas+Cage).



Chapter One:   
Drag Me Down

“It’s you. Because no one else makes sense.”

‘Nothing hits harder than healing alone,’ Harry thought to himself. The words of his old friend rung in his ear like an echo on the water he was looking out on. Everything seemed empty. His head, his heart, the Manhattan River, the sky, his bed back at home. This was nothing new. Every night seemed a bit longer, a bit more worrisome. Yet no one reached out. His three best friends lay somewhere in the city, fast asleep. Harry should be with them, but something about returning to Zayn, Niall, and Liam seemed so wrong. They were blind to the life he led. They ran through his problems but failed to see what was causing him all this pain. Not like they’d care. It didn’t matter anyway.

As he began to walk into the city, joint in hand, he could still hear that voice.  
'Harry! Eleanor hates when I smell like weed! I’m trying to quit anyway.” The smug smile, the pure bond. Nothing could equate to those memories, nothing could replace the shared smiles. Each step Harry took back towards his hotel meant another second had passed and he was further away from his best friend. 

Harry knew the city. It knew him. No, it knew them. Some saw them as a couple, some saw them as enemies. Some saw them as what they were, inseparable friends, and everyone saw them as power and pose. Yet no one seemed to recognize Harry on his own. Even with his millions of fans, waiting for him to come back to the spotlight, even with his followers and former “directioners”. They watched the band fall apart. If only they could see what they were up too now. Liam, maybe the leader of it all, met old friends at a party shortly after the band announced hiatus. They were led into substances with names too long to remember and effects too numbing to recall. And just like that, they were roped into it all. Money, drugs, sex, power, all circling around their bidding. They had the money, they just had to put it to use. And there were only so many ways wealthy addicts could increase their income. So they resorted to selling. And they never looked back. 

Niall took it the easiest. He seemed to know that nothing could break their image. They were raised up to look like the picture of proper etiquette, and their devoted fans would never let them fall. He would look each of them in the eye every morning and remind them that nothing would come back around if they were the ones in control of the karma. And for a while, it worked. He would lay back, find someone to make smile, and live a life of good, and well, evil. If that's what people want to call it. 

Liam was sceptical. He knew about these kinds of things. His friends had been in this business for years, just on a lower level. They did the bidding, and told stories of dreams of being in charge, just watching an empire grow. Liam could see their dreams were built on pride and greed, and wanted none of that. But with the simple reminder of all the good he could keep doing with the profit he made, he was convinced.

Zayn surprised everyone. After keeping his distance from the boys for a few months, he showed up to reconnect. What he returned too, however, was not what he expected. Nonetheless, he wanted to be a part of it. He knew he would stay on the sidelines, continue his solo career and keep to himself, but something about the offer he was given, the money, the simple, simple money, there was no reason to say no. 

Harry remembered his own reaction. It was an instant yes. He never let it show, however. He wanted to keep his cool, unimpressed. But he was over the moon excited. He never would have guessed what the business would do to him. But nevertheless, he was in it to win it.

And Louis. So wrapped up in his own life, breathing on his own, it took hours of convincing and arguing to get him to come along. He knew Harry would never be able to do this without the whole band with him, and Louis was never one to slow somebody down. So after days on days on days of fighting, he was in. And oh, how Harry wished he hadn't been.

Harry reached his hotel at three A.M. He checked his watch and smiled. Something about being up so late made him feel so young. Even though he was only 23, he felt decades older. His childhood seemed so far away, as far away as his old career. As a butler opened the door and took his coat, he felt back to his usual state. Anxious, nothing felt right. He chose to brush it off. He simply waited for something to happen. Someone would ask for a picture even though they should be asleep, someone would yell at him or ask him when the band's getting back together. Something will happen. And yet, as he entered the elevator, all seemed calm. Harry couldn’t recall when a night had gone so smoothly. His feelings seemed normal, but the city was… off. The soft ding of the bell told him he was on his floor. In his dizzy, heightened state, he floated into the hallway.

As he arrived at his door, he fumbled with his key card. Getting into his hotel room, he fell on the floor, not bothering to get on the bed. Being dramatic suited him. 

‘Harry, shut up. I’m trying to watch my fucking football, just get off your ass and quiet down now, will you? No need to be so dramatic.’ 

With a sigh, Harry dragged himself up and flopped onto the bed. The ceiling was oddly entertaining. The city buzzed with noise outside, but Harry couldn’t hear a thing. And then it came. 

At first, Harry thought he was imagining it. No one knocked on his door. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a visitor… was it Eleanor? It seemed so odd that they had once talked. He was out of it, and it wouldn’t be weird that he was hallucinating. But then it came again. A louder thud on the door. Could it be a worker? Who would be working this late? Harry turned over in bed, a seemingly impossible task. With a groan, he mumbled out, “Who is it?”

The only response he got was another knock. Harry finally got the courage to go up to the door and open it. 

“Harry Styles? You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney and if you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. If you waive these rights and talk to us, anything you say may be used against you in court. You are under arrest for many charges, including that of the murder of Louis Tomlinson.”


	2. Little Things of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Obama.

Barack was a selfish man. His pride and dignity could only get him so far, and his habits of always wanting more were starting to take over him. As a lawyer, he was making plenty of money. He had a beautiful wife and lived a content life, but just wanted more. The void his life had yet to fill just kept expanding and expanding. But he knew what he wanted.

Barack’s desires were not unordinary. In fact, hundreds of people tried their best to shoot their shot every time the opportunity rose. Millions dreamed of such a desire from a very young age. Yet Barack felt so narcissistic and guilty for wanting to follow his dream. He felt stupid that he wasn’t satisfied. He knew deep down that his desire would benefit both him and millions of other people, but he still felt awful that he wanted to be the President of The United States of America. But how could he ever achieve such a thing?

“Barack?” His co-worker at Davis, Miner, Barnhill & Galland, Jason said. “Michelle is here to see you.”

“Thank you, send her in.” Obama’s deep voice rang out. 

Michelle Obama entered the room with a swift click-clack of her shoes. Her powerful presence radiated out past the wooden walls and book cases, beyond the window Barack sat in front of, through the shades and glass he stared at all day, and stretched all throughout Chicago. Barack looked up and smiled, happy to see her familiar face. 

“Hi, honey. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, chuckling at his own unusual elegance. He looked into Michelle’s eyes and saw a glimmer of happiness as well as a strange shine of worry. 

“Barack, hello. I just stopped by to see how work was today,” Michelle said. 

Obama was confused, as a visit from the powerful lawyer was very out of the ordinary. Michelle was a busy woman, and rarely had time to talk even at home. But after a recent lack of clients at Obama’s firm, she seemed more attentive to him. She knew about his ambitions and his desires and although she supported them, she saw the harsh truth behind the matter. He wasn’t recognized as much as her, or as much as any candidate for president normally would be. He was fit for the job, sure, but most of his previous cases were small. He had yet to have anything bigger than getting a few thousand dollars for a woman who hurt her arm. 

“Nothing new, just working on the Smith case,” Barack said. The Smith case was a case of hate speech spray painted on Robert Smith’s lawn. The case was easy to get through, it was just taking forever. Barack loved what he did, but he had to admit, it got boring. Although he was talented, he never felt like his knowledge and skill was being fully put to use. Michelle was a perfect example of who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Her cases were skillfully thought through and masterfully done. If only he could get his hands on a case, a big case. Maybe he would be recognized. It always helped a campaign to have a known name, an already crafted legacy. 

“Alright,” Michelle said. “I need to get back to work, but I just thought I’d drop by and check on you. Bye, then.” 

Barack watched her leave, not surprised by the briefness of their encounter. His marriage had always been okay, but he couldn't recall the last full conversation they shared. He had been married for so long, but he didn’t even know his wife. Maybe it was better that way. He needed his head in the game. 

_________________________________________________________

That night, Barack finally stood up and left his office. He stretched his arms above his head with a quick yawn. He had to continue his work, but he just couldn’t sit still for any longer. He put on his shoes (he never wore them in the office,) and stood up. He accidentally kicked his chair, his fancy chair, the chair he was oddly attached too - across the room. It hit the wall with a dramatic slam and for some reason, that was his breaking point. He ran to the couch he tucked away in the corner of his office, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. After a solid three minutes of yelling, he stood up, brushed himself off, and acted like nothing happened. He swiftly walked to the door and opened it, peering outside. All eleven of the other lawyers were in their offices, the assistants were off doing whatever they do, and the receptionist was in his own little world. With a sigh, Obama walked into the hallway and towards the break room. 

As he arrived in the break room, he was greeted by Claudia, an assistant of one of his fellow lawyers in his firm. She was eating her sandwich at a table in the corner, tucked away with her phone out. When she noticed Barack enter the room, she smiled and waved. Having only spoken to her twice before, Barack gave a confused smile in return. 

“Come over here!” She said, inviting him to her table. He awkwardly shuffled over. He felt oddly reminded of middle school.

“Uh, hello,” He said, as he sat down. He wasn’t expecting this type of interaction today. He tried to collect himself, to forget his childish display of emotion he experienced only moments ago. It was a struggle.

“So, did you hear about the opening in New York?” Claudia asked, eyes open wide. Her eyelashes were coated in layers upon layers of mascara clumped together, almost hiding the bags under her eyes. It wasn’t abnormal to get no sleep around the office. Barack was so distracted by her strange eyes that he almost missed the question.

“I’m sorry, what openings?” He replied. 

“The firm’s branch in the city. They have an opening, apparently there's a big case and someone dropped it and was fired.” She said, shaking her head. Obama understood the frustration. To turn down a case was insane, but things might be different in New York, where their firm had an actually good reputation instead of being middle class and, as someone described it, “bland.” (Obama still tosses and turns in his bed at night, wondering how in hell someone would describe an attorney’s office as “bland.” Isn’t that what they’re supposed to be?)

“Huh. Do you know anyone who's applying?” Obama said.

“No, I think most everyone around here either turned it down or can’t go. There might be some people in Vegas applying, however. Why, you interested?”

Yes, of course Barack was interested! This could be the case of a lifetime if it was big enough for someone to get fired over! In all his years at the practice, he had never wanted a case more. And he didn’t even know what the case was. His mind was already planning how it would go, headlines reading how he won the groundbreaking case and people standing in awe as he announced he’s planning on running for President. He could see his future NYC apartment, just him and the city. And Michelle. Right, Michelle, Barack, and the city. 

“Barack? Are you interested?”

“Probably not, but I’ll think about it.”

“Cool. Haven’t heard what the case is, heard it involves some singer.” Claudia said, her attention once again focused on her iPhone, which was beeping in an odd way. Probably some mobile game.

“Interesting,” Barack said calmly. A singer? The case would be in headlines everywhere! This was his ticket to the White House and too a new America!

Claudia took another bite of her sandwich and sighed. “Do you want some food, Barack?” She asked kindly. 

It was then and only then that Barack realized how hungry he really was. His stomach let out a well timed grumble and he chuckled in return. “I guess so,” he said.

“Do you want some sandwich? It’s tuna,” Claudia offered.

Nope, not for Obama. He looked around, and saw what he was looking for. “No thank you, but you’re very kind. I’ll just stick to the vending machine.” 

“Suit yourself,” Claudia said as she went back to playing her game. 

Barack stood up and fished a few quarters from his back pocket. He stared into his reflection in the vending machine and saw the human embodiment of insomnia, of sleep deprivation. He let out a pained laugh as he chose a bag of potato chips. As he paid and reached for his chips he felt a buzz in his pocket. Holding his chips in one hand, he pulled out his phone to see two things; 1, the time was currently 12:32 AM and he was still at work and 2, one message from Michelle. He unlocked his phone to respond.

Michelle: Where are you? It’s past midnight!

Barack: I’m so sorry, I got sidetracked and I’m behind on work. 

Michelle: Okay, you need sleep.

Barack: I know, I know.

Barack: I’ll be home in a little while. 

Barack: Are there leftovers?

Barack: Sorry, did you make dinner?

Barack: That's not a good question to ask, I’m sorry.

Barack: Michelle?

Michelle: Goodnight.

Something was off. Barack lost all his appetite and began to wonder why he even bought chips in the first place. He wasn’t a good lawyer, or at least no one knew he was, he wasn’t a good husband. How the hell would he make a good President? Everything seemed dim. It could be the time of night, it could be the sheer wave of self pity Barack Obama was experiencing. But he needed to do something. 

Thanking Claudia for her conversation and time, he began to walk out of the break room. Walking became speed walking, running became full out sprinting, and Barack reached his office out of breath. He swiftly sat down at his desk and opened up his laptop. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

Dear Mr. Davis,  
My name is Barack Obama. I work in the firm at the Chicago branch, crime/social justice division. I wanted to ask about the New York opening. 

________________________________________________________

Barack finally reached his brownstone at 2:54 AM. He snuck up the stairs, slowly unlocked the door, and tiptoed inside to see Michelle sitting right in the living room next to the door. 

“It’s almost 3 AM, Barack. What is going on?” Michelle asked, worried in her voice. “You don’t have a big case, you’re always talking about how you’re underworked. Why are you coming back so late?” 

“I am so sorry, an opportunity came up and I had to jump on it. Michelle, you’ll want to hear this. There's a job in New York City-”

“New York City? Barack, do you expect me to just be ready to fly to New York City? I have a job! I have friends! I have a life in Chicago!”

“This is the break I need, the type of case I’ve been waiting for! Michelle, these things don’t come every day. I need to at least try.”

“What exactly is the case?”

“Well, I don’t know the exact details yet but-”

“You want me to be ready to uproot my life for a case you don’t even know about yet? Barack, that is insane. What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you? A wife is supposed to be supportive, caring, and talk to her husband. You never do any of those things.”

“Are you serious? I have been nothing but supportive. I will talk to you if you talk to me and if I have the time. We have work, Barack. Were you not the one who stayed there until 3 in the morning? Or were you somewhere else, with someone else?”

“You think I’m cheating on you? What the hell!”

“What am I supposed to think? You said it yourself, we never talk!”

“Well, maybe we aren’t suited to be married then,” Barack said, instantly seeing the damage of his words. All of his words. It was like he had forgotten how to think. He just needed sleep. But Michelle would understand, she knew how it was. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that for awhile now,” She said. 

Barack took a step back. What? She wanted a divorce? “You could have asked for a divorce if you were waiting for so long,” He eventually mumbled.

“Barack, I need you to see why I want one. We don’t get along. We don’t fit anymore.”

“Do you want me to sleep here?” Barack said, a sob building in his throat. 

“You can live here. I’ll stay with a friend, and for tonight I’ll stay on the couch.”

Barack’s head was spinning. In five minutes, five fast minutes, his entire life turned upside down. What happened? How did it all end so fast? Without another word he walked past his wife, well, his ex-wife, and headed up the first flight of stairs in his home. 

As he reached his bedroom, he saw all of Michelle’s things already gone. How long had they been missing? Was he this blind to their crumbling relationship? The bed was messed up, the rug out of place. He hadn’t cleaned in weeks. As he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, he dealt with an overwhelming rush of guilt as he realized he wasn’t very upset about the breakup. It was almost inevitable. It just happened. Why was it so smooth, so easy? Shouldn’t he be sad, upset, broken? Why was he only thinking about the New York job? Did he really prioritize work over love? Yes. He did. And for some reason, he was okay with it. He was at peace, not angered by his own ignorance. After pulling off his pants and putting an old tshirt on, he lay down in bed, not even bothering to brush his teeth. Who needs hygiene when you can lay in bed regretting life choices? And slowly, sleep crept over him. What a night.

_________________________________________________________

As Obama woke the next morning, he grabbed his phone. As he opened up his messages, he saw a text from Michelle. He suddenly recalled the events of the previous night and groaned, not ready to face the day. 

Michelle: Will be moving some stuff later today. 

The text sent a shiver down Barack’s spine. It was all very real, very touchable. It was happening. When things happen fast, they seem like dreams, but this, this wasn’t one of those. It felt like a punchline you’ve been waiting for, the ending to a book that was way too long. It didn’t seem normal, but it seemed like it would fit. 

God, what was happening to his life? No wife, no good work…. yet. He jumped out of bed at the thought, feeling young, childish, thrilled, only hours after a breakup. How odd is that?  
As he fumbled with his clothing and ran down the stairs to grab some food, all he could hear was a high buzzing noise. The world was energizing him, reminding him to keep moving. He grabbed a protein bar, his work bag, and headed out the door without a care in the world. Life moves faster when you have something to look forward to, something on the line, something you’re waiting for. 

As he got in his car, eating his bar, throwing his bag into the back seat, he finally gave himself a chance to breathe. In, out. In, out. He had always been the seemingly calm type, but oh, was it the opposite. He only took moments like this amidst chaos. After a few seconds passed, he put his foot on the pedal and began to drive towards his work place. It was where he needed to be, because he signed a contract and all that but also because his future lay there. 

Walking into the office felt like a fever dream. Running on four hours of sleep and a protein bar never works out, especially not for a stressed out lawyer. He greeted the receptionist, he said hello to Jason, waved at Claudia, and headed to his office. Everything was looking normal, though it was nothing of the sort. He opened the office door, slipped inside, sneaking past nothing but his self doubt. Sitting down at his desk, he tore open his bag and grabbed his laptop. He hurriedly logged into his computer, messing up a few times. And then he opened his email.

And it was there. The response.

Obama rushed to open the email and gasped as he read it out loud:  
“Dear Mr. Obama, I am writing to offer you a spot in our New York branch on a case…”

Barack almost yelled. Instead, he went back to his pillow, picked it up, and screamed again. God, yes! This was it! Everything was working out just as he had planned it, he couldn’t imagine this going any better. (Okay, maybe the divorce wasn’t the greatest thing, but other than that.) But when he read the rest of his email, his jaw dropped. Gasping, he saw;

“...on a case regarding the murder of singer Louis Tomlinson. You’ll be defending a suspect, his bandmate. Harry Styles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I know nothing about legal stuff. This is complete bs but it's a goddamn Hobama fic so what did you expect?
> 
> Also sorry for this being so poorly written and short. If you need to talk about anything you can email us at ginnyandalexa@gmail.com
> 
> \- Alexa and Ginny

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, are you alright? No? Us neither. This is really poorly written lmao - Yeah, thank you I guess! We'll try out best to update this every couple days/weeks. See you next chapter! 
> 
> P.S. Please reach out if you're not doing well. If you're reading this.... I don't know what to say. Our email is GinnyandAlexa@gmail.com - we'll try and get back to you.
> 
> \- Alexa and Ginny


End file.
